"On this day, we remember our Lord and Savior, the God-Emperor of Mankind he who—" Conna sighed, refolding her hands in her lap.
Another year, another horrid Emperor's Day speech, she thought, plastering a mildly interested look on her face as Chaplain Endmon rambled on about duty and obligation. At least I'm sitting unlike those poor sods. Whenever an important holiday rolled around, the regiment found themselves in the high arched chapel, forced to listen to the chaplain's nasally monotone. He loved giving speeches and would drone on for hours whenever he could get away with it, and this speech was no exception. Conna had absolutely no idea why he had become a priest. He was small, dumpy, balding and a dreadful speaker. Most of the men just laughed at him, calling him a little bug and other unsavory and insulting nicknames. But, time and time again, the troops found themselves listening to his drone.
Suddenly, a loud hissing crackle rent the air. Conna leapt to her feet, only to find the high arched ceiling filled with fireworks. Blue white and green sparks flickered in the high ebony arches, the glass panes depicting the God-Emperor's struggles flashing almost as if they were moving. The men had begun to cheer and laugh, no longer paying any attention to the sermon.
"Emperor be praised!" Conna muttered, rolling her shoulders as she stood. "This bloody sermon is over!"
Later, the mess room was packed to bursting, amasec flowing freely along with harder liquors. By this time, Conna was more than a little tipsy and was thoroughly enjoying herself. Jumping on a table, she raised her glass in a toast. Tapping her glass, a respectful silence fell.
"Gentlemen, I would like to thank the trooper who set off the fireworks at the sermon. If I had had to sit through one more minute of that sorry excuse for a lecture we would have had to arrange some sort of a friendly fire incident." A cheer and a roar of laughter greeted her statement and Conna smiled before she downed another shot, letting the liquid burn a trail down her throat. She slid gracelessly to the floor, head spinning and weak-kneed.
"Looks like you need to lie down for a bit, Conna." Arrel had appeared at her elbow, gently holding her up on her feet. "Come on. If you drink too much more, you'll have to worry about sore joints as well as a sore head in the morning." He steered her out of the room, hands on her shoulders, despite her mumbled protests. He dropped her gently on her bed, and bent to remove her shoes. Flopping her feet up onto the cot, he pulled a light blanket over her half conscious form and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Happy Emperor's Day."